


K-I-S-S-I-N-G

by aishitara



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dean didn't handle Castiel's death well, Dean just doesn't want to talk about it ok, Feelings, First Kiss, Fluff, I kinda forgot about him when I wrote this, Jack may as well not even exist, Love Confessions, M/M, Sam Ships It, Sort Of, a wee touch of the angst, ambiguous timeline, s13, sam is sick of their shit, sometime after Cas is back from the Empty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-28
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:46:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26690878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishitara/pseuds/aishitara
Summary: Sam’s been breathing down his neck about every little thing lately. He eats too much bacon. Drinks too much beer. Drives too fast.Avoids Cas like his life depends on it.Dean huffs out a breath. Sam hasn’t actually called him onthatpart, but if the conversation they’d had a few days ago about… that time Castiel wasdeadwas anything to go by, he was certain his brother was going to corner him any second now and point out how Dean had been doing such a good job of hiding from himandCas.He wasn’t… he wasn’thiding,okay?He just… happened to be anywhere at all in the bunker that Cas wasn’t. Not onpurpose.Just. Because. Of reasons.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 26
Kudos: 164





	K-I-S-S-I-N-G

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first SPN fic, and the first time I'm writing again in a long time. The idea sort of grew out of a conversation I kept imagining between Dean and Cas after Cas returns from the Empty in s13, and with the help of the lovely [conversationalpurgatory,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/conversationalpurgatory) it became something that resembled an actual story. XD Thank you, hon! 
> 
> It occurs to me that this must happen some time after Jack runs away from the bunker, because he is literally nowhere to be seen in this fic lol. 
> 
> I had a lot of fun writing this. I hope it entertains! :D

“You know you’re just making things harder for him, right?” Sam says, apropos of nothing whatsoever.

Dean looks over at Sam, eyebrows raised. He glances around the empty war room, wondering what could have prompted this, then back to his brother, who is casually flipping through a dusty tome that looks like it moonlights as a murder weapon. A few silent moments tick by, Dean eyeballing Sam expectantly, Sam pretending that he hadn’t even spoken a second ago. Typical.

“You wanna elaborate on that, Sammy?” Dean finally asks, slowly, in a tone that screams _don’t even think about it._ He takes a long sip of his coffee.

“Cas.” Sam winces when Dean puts his mug down on the table a little too forcefully. “C’mon, Dean, ever since he came back from the Empty you’ve been… pretending like nothing happened. Like everything’s the same as it always was.”

Dean shrugs. “Everything _is_ the same.” He’s still hoping his tone says _drop it,_ but Dean knows better. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, well aware of exactly where Sam is going with this. Sam can be like a freakin’ bloodhound if he catches even the slightest whiff of _repressed feelings._ But Dean doesn’t want to talk about it. He _won’t._

Sam scoffs. “Dean–” 

“No, Sam!” Dean barks, slamming his hand down on the table. “I’m not talking about this with you.” His voice ricochets off the walls. He curls his hand into a fist and repeats through clenched teeth, “We are not talking about this.”

Sam gives Dean a flat stare. Then he sighs and pushes a hand through his hair. “Look, Dean– I just think– I just think you should _tell_ him, okay? You owe it to Cas to tell him what it was like when…” He pauses, swallows, tries again: “While he was gone.” 

Dean shakes his head and pushes back from the table. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Sammy,” he snarls, standing. He leans on his palms over the table and looks Sam in the eye. “Just drop it, Sam. I mean it.” He finds it hard to catch a full breath. “He’s here, now. That’s gotta be enough for me.” 

“Dean–”

“I said, that’s _enough!_ I don’t wanna talk to Cas!” He turns with the intention of storming off, done with this whole line of thinking for the rest of _forever._ To his utter embarrassment, Castiel stands in the doorway, staring at Dean with wide-eyed astonishment. How long has he been standing there? 

As far as Dean’s concerned, a nanosecond is too long. He shakes his head and pushes past Cas into the kitchen, ignoring Sam calling him back, ignoring the hurt look that he catches on Cas’ face just as he spins out of the way to avoid Dean’s blustering exit.

**~~~**

Castiel watches Dean escape into the kitchen, serious and sad. He shifts from foot to foot, clearly trying to decide if he should follow or give Dean some space. Sam feels pretty bad for the guy. He’s often a target for Dean’s darker moods, but Sam’s gotten kind of tired of watching his brother crap all over Cas just because he doesn’t want to deal with his own feelings.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam greets gently, marking his place in his book before closing it. 

Castiel goes still and glances over his shoulder. “Sam.” He looks after Dean again, then sighs and comes into the war room. He stops behind the chair Dean had just vacated and grabs onto the back of it with white-knuckled fingers, head bowed between his shoulders.

An awkward silence falls over them. Sam opens his mouth, closes it, clears his throat. He twists around in his chair to face Cas more fully. “You know… Dean cares about you, right?” he asks, cutting right to the point, however uncomfortable it is for everyone involved. 

Castiel lifts his head to look over at Sam with narrowed eyes. “Okay…?” he says, puzzled.

“And you know I care about both of you, right?”

The squint intensifies. “Yes?”

Sam nods, tapping his fingers on the table. He looks up at Castiel and says, no-nonsense, “Then believe me when I say: figure. your. shit. out. Or I am going to handcuff you together and lock you in the trunk of Dean’s car until you do.”

“What–”

“It means exactly what it sounds like, Cas,” Sam interrupts, standing. He gathers up the heavy book he’d been reading earlier. “Dean will make you wait forever while he’s figuring out what he wants.” 

“But, I don’t know what to–”

“I can’t help you with that part, Cas. I’m just saying. Don’t let him get away with keeping you in the dark. Okay? You know how stubborn he can be about this kind of thing.” 

Castiel closes his mouth and looks thoughtful, at that. A frown creases his brow. “Sam, you know hurting Dean is the last thing I want to do.”

“Yeah, Cas. _I_ know that. _You_ know that. You could put up a flashing neon sign saying so right outside Dean’s door and he would do his best to pretend it didn’t exist. Because _he_ doesn’t want to know that.” 

“If it’s such a lost cause, then what are you suggesting?” Castiel looks so serious and confused, Sam can’t help the soft, exasperated laugh that sneaks out of him.

“I’m saying,” Sam says, clapping Cas on the back as he passes him, “he’s not going to bring this up with you.” Cas’ frown deepens, and Sam shakes his head. These two, _Jesus._ “Just– ask him about what happened when you were dead.”

**~~~**

Dean looks over his shoulder before leaning down into the fridge to grab a beer. He glances around again, checking for snoopy little brothers, before uncapping the bottle and taking a slow drink. Sam’s been breathing down his neck about every little thing lately. He eats too much bacon. Drinks too much beer. Drives too fast.

Avoids Cas like his life depends on it.

He huffs out a breath. Sam hasn’t actually called him on _that_ part, but if the conversation they’d had a few days ago about… that time Castiel was _dead_ was anything to go by, Dean was certain his brother was going to corner him any second now and point out how Dean had been doing such a good job of hiding from him _and_ Cas.

He wasn’t… he wasn’t _hiding,_ okay? 

He just… happened to be anywhere at all in the bunker that Cas wasn’t. Not on _purpose._ Just. Because. Of reasons.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean jumps. Can’t help it. He spins to see Cas standing behind him as though summoned. He’s standing too far away. Dean can’t make sense of the feeling that wells up in him, wanting Cas to be closer even though he _had_ spent the better part of a week… making sure he and Cas weren’t ever alone together. He feels pulled in opposing directions. _Stay. Talk._

“Heya, Cas.”

_Run. Lie._

He watches his friend take a steadying breath. Castiel straightens his stance and looks over at Dean with a determined glint in his eye. He takes a step closer. “Dean,” he says, calm. “I want to talk to you.”

Dean blows out a breath and puts his beer down on the kitchen table. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he says, “Look, Cas, can we do this later?” He gazes at Castiel over the tips of his fingers, hoping he doesn’t have to have this conversation. He’s not prepared for this conversation. He won’t ever be prepared for this conversation. But he sees Cas firm up his resolve. He watches it happen, a physical and spiritual hardening, readying for a fight. _Shit._

“No,” Cas says, quiet and firm. Dean’s stomach flutters. He watches Cas hook a finger under his tie and pull it loose. Dean swallows hard and looks away.

“No, Dean, Sam is right. We need to talk.” His eyes are pleading and so, so blue. “Please, Dean. Sit and talk with me.” 

Something in Castiel’s voice sounds so small and terrified. He can barely hear it, but it’s there. Dean swallows again, and then Dean sits. 

And sits. 

And looks at Cas helplessly because, really? What is he supposed to say? There’s so much between them now. Too much, maybe. 

“What happened, Dean? Why do you insist on avoiding me?” Cas asks, his face open. “Have I done something wrong?” 

Well, shit. Dean swallows thickly. He doesn’t want Castiel walking around thinking this is his fault. Dean can give Cas an honest answer, can’t he? After everything Cas has done for them – for _him_ – he can at least give him that.

“No, Cas. You’re good. We’re good, it’s just. I–” Dean coughs. Drums his fingers on the table. Takes a breath and tries again. “I don’t– I can’t– lose you again, man.” Ugh, _feelings._ He sees Cas frown and plows on: “You don’t know– you have no idea how much– how bad it was when you were gone. I couldn’t– ” Dean cuts himself off, horrified to realize he’s tearing up. He scrubs his hands over his face before cupping his eyes with the palms of his hands. He can feel how hot his skin is, burning and dry. He’s _not ready for this conversation, dammit._

Castiel is quiet for a moment, collecting his thoughts. Then: “Dean. I know. I do know. I could see it on your soul like a stain as soon as I was back. Your grief. Your sorrow. I thought– I thought it was because of your mother.”

Dean swallows. “Well, yeah. I mean, Mom, too. But Cas– I watched you die. Again. But you didn’t– you didn’t come back. I burned you, man. I lit the pyre, made sure I did right by you. And it felt–” He cuts himself off abruptly, too close to saying something he’s certain he’ll regret. Castiel is looking at him, not with pity, but with a softness that Dean’s never felt he deserved from anyone, least of all the angel sitting across from him. Just because it had felt like he was burning away any chance at ever being… well, happy… didn’t give him the right to ever ask anything more of Cas, now he was back. 

Dean knows he’s poison. He knows everyone that has ever mattered to him – _everyone_ – got hurt because of him. Some of them were _dead_ because of him. He knows that the longer people hang around him, the closer they come to realizing it and bailing. Or worse, getting killed. And Cas has been around for a long time, now. Longer than most. Tipping point has to be somewhere right around the corner.

“You’re thinking very loudly,” Cas observes, and Dean looks down at his hands, clenched together in his lap.

“Look, Cas,” he begins, hesitant, “I don’t know what you want me to say. Do you want me to tell you that one of the worst moments of my life was seeing your wings burned into the ground? That I could hardly bear to look at– at your body, but I wouldn’t let Sam so much as lay a finger on you? Shit, Cas.” Dean can feel the void of his grief open up inside him again, hungry, trying to pull him back down into _hopeless_ and _empty_ and _regret._ He reminds himself that Cas is literally sitting _right in front of him_ and he’s _fine._

He takes a deep breath before adding quietly, “I prayed to Chuck to bring you back to me.” 

Castiel is silent. It feels like all the air has suddenly been sucked out of the room.

“To you?” Cas asks softly, his eyes on Dean’s face. “Not to ‘us’?”

Dean raises his eyes slowly from his hands to look Castiel in the eye. It feels like following through on a dare. “To _me,_ ” he says, gruff. “You gotta know, Cas. You gotta know by now,” he pleads, silently begging Castiel to help him out here because he’s _trying,_ okay, but even in the face of Castiel’s return he can’t bring himself to cross the threshold they’ve been standing on for years now. Dean knows himself well enough to know it’s because he’s fucking terrified. He’s no coward. But he’s not sure he would survive losing Castiel again. And if he lets Cas any closer? If he actually lets him in? Forget it. The next time Cas dies, Dean would be obliterated. 

Cas walks slowly around the table to Dean, crouching down beside his chair. He studies Dean’s face for a moment, or maybe Dean’s soul, who the fuck knows, before asking in the same soft tone, as though afraid Dean will spook and bolt from the room: “Is it so very hard for you to say it to me?”

Dean feels a tear escape down his cheek and he angrily wipes it away, furious that his brain seems to be running a lot of background programs without his permission. “Well, yeah, Cas. C’mon, man, there’s so much shit between us now. How would we even– I don’t know, dude, I can’t just up and forgive myself like that.”

“Forgive yourself?” Cas asks, confused frown drawing the corners of his mouth down, which Dean _absolutely does not notice._

He puffs out a breath. “Yeah. You know. For dragging you into all of this fucking mess in the first place. For getting you killed more times than I care to count. Fuck, Cas, I’ve done nothing but let you down from the very beginning.” 

Castiel reaches out first. Of course he does. Of _course_ he does. Dean’s never reached for anything good in his goddamn life, not after he learned that the hand that got stuck out usually got bit, or worse.

Tentative but determined, Castiel takes hold of Dean’s hand, wrapping it snug between both of his. Warm. The touch feels different. Reverent, almost. “Dean,” he begins, holding Dean’s gaze for as long as Dean allows it, “you must know by now that, disappointed or no, I will always come back to you. And I know how hard it is for you to lay yourself bare. So yes. Yes, I do know. I think I have… always known.” Cas looks down at their hands, joined between them. “But I always thought, if you wanted to make something of it, you would tell me. I’ve waited. I will keep waiting, if that’s what you want. But I will spare you the guessing game and tell you that I… feel the same.” 

“So what?” Dean snaps, bitter. “It ain’t gonna be all sunshine and roses, Cas. We both know that. Why start something that’s only gonna end bloody?”

Instead of answering, Castiel grips Dean’s hand tighter between his palms, and leans up to brush his lips against Dean’s cheek. It’s a ghostly touch, the barest impression of a kiss, but Dean feels it all the way down to his toes. He closes his eyes against the feeling that crowds his throat, utterly stunned and too overwhelmed by the simple touch to even try to speak. After a moment, Castiel pulls away, stands. He looks down at Dean with that same soft expression and Dean feels pinned, frozen under Castiel’s solemn gaze.

“I’m not going anywhere, Dean. If it is within my power to do so, I will _always_ come back to you.” He pauses, as though to say something else, but turns and heads for the door, swiftly disappearing and leaving Dean gaping like a fish in the kitchen.

Dean stares down at his hands. Clenches them together. Wonders what in the fuck is wrong with him, not for the first time. “Cas,” he chokes out. Clears his throat, and tries a little louder: “Cas, wait.”

Ungluing his ass from the chair, Dean moves to follow Castiel from the kitchen. His feet carry him without any real conscious input from his brain, fast. Cas couldn’t have gotten far. And in fact, Dean rounds a corner to find Cas leaning against the wall, his shoulder and hip pressing against it as though he can’t keep himself up otherwise. There is dejection clear in every line of him. Right here, in this moment, Dean can see every argument, every dismissal, every rejection or hateful word he’d ever doled out to Cas. It’s all right there in the muscles and bones of the slumped form in front of him, and Dean is suddenly, furiously angry with himself. He knows what Cas has done for him. If he’s being brutally honest with himself, he knows _exactly_ how Cas _feels_ about him, too. Would it really kill him to let himself open up to that?

What’s the worst that could happen? Dean wracks his brain and, call him unimaginative, he can’t think of a single thing worse than what’s happened to them already. Every monster, every salt ’n’ burn, the angels, the demons, Purgatory – god, Purgatory was a _nightmare_ – he could spend days going through all of the fucked up things he and Cas had survived. But they survived it. All of it, together. In fact, he’s pretty sure that the only reason they’re even still _here,_ alive and breathing, is because of _each other._

Looking at Cas now, seeing how he carries this weight around with him, makes Dean’s heart ache. He knows he can’t let Cas keep carrying it alone anymore. He knows what he wants. And… and he believes that he can have it. He _does._

Carefully, not wanting to spook him, Dean places his hand between Castiel’s shoulder blades. Cas spins, pulling away from the touch as though burned, and Dean drops his hand to his side. The desperate, weary look on Cas’ face is echoed in the slump of his shoulders, the slide of his eyes away from Dean’s to the floor. The uncharacteristic lack of eye contact hits Dean like a goddamn freight train. 

“Cas…” Dean breathes, a barely-there sound. He clenches his fists to keep himself from reaching out again. But Castiel inches toward Dean as though compelled, and that’s about as much self-control as Dean can muster anymore; something finally gives and he steps into Cas’ space, over that invisible threshold, hands coming up to frame the other man’s face, waiting. When Castiel finally looks up at him, catches his eye, Dean leans their foreheads together, a shaking, relieved breath punching out of him.

“Cas, I’m…”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupts. “Please shut up.”

Dean lets out a tiny laugh, but complies. Brings his mouth down over Castiel’s with a smile teasing at the corner of his lips. And oh. 

Oh. 

_Yes._

In an instant Dean can feel himself release countless moments of tension, things he didn’t even realize he was holding onto melting out of him when Castiel responds to the kiss with a fervor Dean absolutely should have expected. Cas grabs onto the open edges of Dean’s shirt and hauls him closer, the force of the movement making them fall back against the wall. 

They break apart with the impact but crash back together immediately, Dean digging fingers into Cas’ hair, tugging, gripping like Cas is the only thing keeping him anchored to reality. Cas opens his mouth under Dean’s, and Dean hears himself make a completely mortifying noise of pleasure and relief before taking the invitation for what it is and dipping his tongue into Cas’ mouth for a taste. He drops his hands to Cas’ wrists, fingers still twisted into Dean’s shirt, and presses Cas further back into the wall with his body. Dean untangles Cas’ hands from his shirt, threading their fingers together and pressing them against his own chest. He pulls away just enough to see all of Cas’ reddened face.

“Dude,” he says, clearing his throat, “um. Goddamn. Wow. Okay.” _Yes,_ he thinks, trying very hard not to show how completely embarrassed he is, _Dean can English._

“Dean,” Cas says, fondness and exasperation warring for dominance in his tone. 

“Should’a done that a long time ago.”

Cas opens his mouth, closes it, and thinks for a moment before he replies, “That is not what I was expecting you to say.” 

Dean can’t help the way his mouth curls up into a smile. “No?”

Cas shakes his head. Then he glances down the hall and frowns just a little, around the eyes. Dean turns, too, and sees his little, sneaky, traitorous baby brother, creeping on them like he’s got nothing better to do on a Saturday night.

Sam is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, wearing the smuggest smirk Dean has ever seen on another human being and eyeballing them like he’s about to bust out the glitter and a big rainbow pride flag right there in the hallway outside the kitchen. He tips his head up, leans his torso forward and enunciates very clearly:

“Fuck. ing. F-I-N-A-L-L-Y.” 

Castiel straightens up and says, “There is no need to be crude, Sam,” just as Dean barks, “I told you to stay outta this, Sammy!” They look at each other and almost immediately burst into laughter. Maybe it’s more of the epic tension between them finding an outlet, but Dean and Castiel laugh so hard they’re both knuckling at the corners of their eyes and sliding down onto the floor, winded. Dean has no idea how fucking long it takes them to calm down to the occasional giggle. 

“You guys are gonna be so gross about this, aren’t you?” Sam says in mock distress. “I know what I want for Christmas. Noise-cancelling headphones. Or maybe a billion gallons of industrial cleaner? Oh! No, I know. Soundproofing for the bedrooms!” 

Dean looks around for something to throw at his gigantor brother’s face. “Sam, I swear to god…”

To his credit, Sam looks contrite when he says, “Hey, no. Seriously, I’m happy about this.” He smiles, and Dean thinks he can see relief there, too. “I’m happy for you guys. Please be gross about it. Be as gross as you want. I’ve been watching you both avoid the hell out of this for years now. I thought, maybe, you both just needed a little… push?” 

Dean chooses to ignore the implication and says with a smile, “Sammy, you might not wanna give me a blank check in the being gross department. I’ve got _years_ of stuff I’ve wanted to try just kickin’ around in my head.”

Cas looks over at Dean, eyes narrowed. “‘ _Years_ ’?” he parrots. “‘ _Stuff_ ’?” His brow lightens but his mouth is scrunching up, and it looks like he’s caught between confusion, irritation, and delight. It’s a helluva look and Dean wants to kiss it right off of Cas’ face.

Placing a hand over Castiel’s heart, Dean twists his fingers into Cas’ ever-disheveled tie and tugs him closer. “So much stuff, angel,” he murmurs against Cas’ mouth. “You got no idea.” He presses forward into another kiss, and another. It feels like a promise.

He gets to do this, now. _They_ get to do this. Dean’s surprised to find he feels like he might float away.

Somewhere, he hears Sam mock-gagging and backing down the hallway, but Dean doesn’t care. If the big moose is having second thoughts about that “blank check,” well. Sam’s a meddling meddler who meddles, and he deserves exactly what’s coming to him.

**end.**

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [aishitara](https://aishitara.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr as well, though I'm rarely _on_ tumblr these days. Still, it's a blog chock full of Destiel nonsense, come on over and drool over deancas stuff with me!


End file.
